Sleep evaded me, thoughts and hypothetical scenarios of this PR relationship and what it might entail flashing through mymind. For once, she was flimsy with details, and after a few hours of hyperfixating on our conversation, I tried to funnel the energy into work.
It worked—mostly.
I’m running on five hours of sleep, but I’m wired with anticipation.
With a sharp glare, she plops onto the bench beside Molly, her bag falling to the ground with a loud thunk.
“Can we be radical with our inside voices, please?” Molly asks, about as awake as Sofía, which is not at all.
We’ve got two zombies on our hands.
Seems like the jet lag finally hit them.
The light peeks over the horizon as we wait for our tour guide to take us to the Blue Mountains. Leaving the two corpses to sip on their coffee, I help Doug rearrange his camera bag, fitting the last lens in and zipping it closed.
He’s always had an eye for finding the right shot, taking the best footage. What he’s not great at is putting it all together, puzzling the pieces into something whole. That’s where I thrive. It’s why we’re the best duo of all time.
I flick my focus to Sofía, her head slumped on Molly’s shoulder.
What the hell does she have planned for this PR relationship?
How does she know what people will like? Will we need to hold hands? Hug?Kiss?
I waited last night for some type of instruction. A PowerPoint, maybe. Or a spreadsheet. Both are on-brand for Sofía. Instead, it was total silence.
Something nudges my shoulder, and I rip my gaze from her and peer at Doug. “What did you say?”
He lifts a brow. “Having trouble focusing this morning?” he asks, his voice low so he doesn’t irritate his wife. Molly scares mea little when she’s tired. Sofía, too. “Did you remember to take your medication?”
“Yeah. I’m good. What was your question?”
I have a daily reminder set, with a backup in case I ignore the first. But there’s no issue with my focus right now. It’s all Sofía.
“Did you want to start with the fifty-millimeter lens? I have a thirty-five and eighty in my bag, plus the drone and a GoPro, but I can get exposure and lighting settings established on the drive.”
“You’re the boss,” I tell him, bumping his shoulder. “I think we’ll have a range of shots, based on Sofía’s summary.”
I spent an hour poring over what we could expect on the tour. In bold, at the top of the paper, it read:Hard hike, wear appropriate clothing. Bring water. It’s hot.Below it, another line with the species we could expect to see:wombat, short-beaked echidna, wallabies, kangaroos, koalas.
Below each species were additional bullet points and an overview of the history and geography of the region. Her notes alone will make voicing over the footage a breeze.
She does think of everything.
A large SUV pulls up to the hotel’s valet, and a middle-aged man with a graying beard, kind eyes, and a head-to-toe khaki outfit hops out of the driver’s side. A worn leather hat sits on top of his head, wide brimmed and decorated with a strip of braided leather.
The intense urge to yell “crickey” nearly knocks me on my ass.
“Sofía?” he asks in a thick accent.
She trudges forward. The navy biker shorts and matching top are tight against her skin, much like the black dress she tried on yesterday, the memory searing. The quiet joy she radiated. The subtle confidence that grew as she became more comfortable. The smile she attempted to hide when she shuffled through the shopping bags and realized I bought every item she tried on.
She steals my breath away so often I’m beginning to think I could survive on a planet without oxygen as long as she’s around.
“That’s me,” she says.
“My name’s Mark. I’ll be your guide today in the mighty Blue Mountains. I reckon it’s gonna be a beaut.”
“This is Jett, Doug, and Molly,” she says as we collect our gear. “I know we’ve chatted already, but there’s a heavy focus on filming nature and wildlife for a documentary series, so we may need flexibility with the schedule.”
